


The trees of Mirkwood

by Rose_SK



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Could be triggering? I don't know, F/M, Heartbreak, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Romance, Soulmates, fading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: The trees were dying.Thranduil had noticed their state deteriorating over the past couple of weeks. He had begun to notice a change in their songs merely a few days after returning from Dale and the battle that had taken place at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. They seemed sadder as if mourning. Thranduil had not given it much thought at that time: after all, Mirkwood was getting more and more dangerous and darkness was looming everywhere they looked.





	The trees of Mirkwood

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I did not see that coming. Inspiration for this "little" oneshot came to me literally out of nowhere, hit me right across the face and did not let go of me until I finished writing this. It is late where I am right now, I was up at 6 in the morning and I am high on caffeine. Therefore please bear with the eventual mistakes in this piece. I could not bring myself to read over it again just now. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it anyway. And happy Thanksgiving to my American readers. 
> 
> Rose_SK
> 
> PS: I do not own the Hobbit or LOTR franchise, all belongs to JRR Tolkien/Peter Jackson (hallowed be their names), however I do own Lyra. She's all mine. :) 
> 
> Enjoy!!

The trees were dying. 

Thranduil had noticed their state deteriorating over the past couple of weeks. He had begun to notice a change in their songs merely a few days after returning from Dale and the battle that had taken place at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. They seemed sadder as if mourning. Thranduil had not given it much thought at that time: after all, Mirkwood was getting more and more dangerous and darkness was looming everywhere they looked. 

It was irrefutable now that the trees of the royal garden and those in close proximity were slowly dying. The leaves had fallen off their branches although the spring had seen them blossom merely two moons ago. The bark on the tree trunks was dried out and crackled under the weight of the branches and could barely support their weight. They looked as though they could collapse any minute from now. And Thranduil could not explain it, and it filled his heart with sorrow. He remembered how his wife and queen used to love roaming about the gardens, singing softly to the trees, speaking to them. She enjoyed looking at the green treetops while he had been engrossed in paperwork. For a moment, Thranduil thought that the reason for the trees’ conditions was the centuries of sorrow from losing their queen, however he knew in his heart that this could not be the case. They had looked healthy for all those years. Something had happened recently that had caused them to mourn.

“Your Highness?” Thranduil, taken by surprise, resisted the urge to draw his sword and gracefully swirled around to face his advisor Galion. 

“Ah, mellon! Please, what owes me the pleasure of your visit?” the King asked in his deep rich voice. The dark-haired elf gave a quick bow and seemed to be looking for the best to formulate whatever issue he brought to his King. Thranduil waited patiently. 

“Aran-nin, I know this is none of my business but I would like to enquire about the princess. The people are worried that she has taken ill, they wish to know that she’s doing well. We haven’t seen her since your return at the beginning of spring, she has not left her quarters since.” Thranduil tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes wearily. He was aware of his daughter’s retreat and he, too, was worried. She had not let him in, she would not see him. And he knew why Lyra had decided to not speak to him anymore. She would understand, some day. She was still so young… or at least, that’s what Thranduil told himself to make him sleep better at night. 

“I was not aware that the people were wishing to see their princess.” The king admitted. Galion shook his head knowingly. 

“I’m afraid they are worried, aran-nin. Their prince has left and their princess is isolating herself. There are rumours that Princess Lyra is…” Thranduil looked at his adviser and friend intently, his patience slowly fading. It was his precious daughter, the jewel of his kingdom, they were talking about.  
“Well speak, mellon! How do you expect me to help you if I do not know what rumours about my daughter are being spread…”

“My Lord, the people believe that Princess Lyra is fading…” 

Fading. The word hit Thranduil with the blow of a dwarfish mace to his gut. Fading! This could not be… not because of this – this human. The King let his gaze wander outside to the naked trees in the gardens. The trees were dying. 

“This cannot be…”

“There are only rumours, my Lord” Galion tried to comfort the King, but Thranduil was well past this stage. He suddenly felt the weight of his own responsibility upon his shoulders. His precious jewel had been known for talking and singing to the trees since she was an elfling, long after her mother had died. If she was fading, she would have stopped it altogether, and the trees were mourning this loss. 

“Leave! I will go speak to the princess tonight” came the sharp reply. 

“What should I tell the people, my Lord?” Galion inquired.

“Lie! Tell them their princess was ill, I do not care what you make, but do not let the rumour fester that she is fading.” Thranduil snapped. He knew that Galion was no fool and that he would have picked up on the fact that his king had never denied the fact that his daughter could possibly be fading. 

“Of course, aran-nin. Sorry for disturbing you” the elf said, bowing one last time before leaving the King’s study. Thranduil closed his eyes and tried to fight the tears of guilt well up in his eyes. He had brought this upon her. It was his fault she was fading. He had been the one to deny her a chance to be with the man she claimed she loved and he had done this for purely selfish reasons. He had not wished to see his jewel-daughter leave his side, like his son had, like his wife had. He wanted to keep her to himself, because he was the only one who could protect her from the darkness in the world. 

His good intentions had been her downfall.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Da? Are you listening?” Sigrid’s voice brought Bard back to the present and he forced a smile upon his lips. 

“Of course, my darling girl”, he said in a reassuring voice, hugging her close, “I’m always listening to you!”

“Right, so what did I just ask you?” Sigrid was no fool, she had noticed her father’s absent-mindedness that had settled since he had taken the position as the Lord of Dale merely two months ago. The war had changed him, although he was still her da and he still showed her and her siblings the love and devotion of a doting father. But something was not right and she could feel it. 

“Well, you caught me red-handed I’m afraid darling. I’m really sorry, I have had a lot on my plate recently. Tax schemes, housing schemes…”

“You are still thinking about her, are you?” Sigrid asked, although she knew it was more of a statement. 

“Your mother? Of course I still…”

“No!”, the young woman interrupted more harshly than she intended to sound, “no, da! Not mother, I know you will always have a space in your heart for her. I was talking about Princess Lyra of Mirkwood…” Her words seemed to shock her father and before he could ask anything she explained, “I saw you kiss her in the Elvenking’s tent that night before the great battle.”

Bard turned away from Sigrid, hoping she wouldn’t see the hurt in his eyes. He knew, however, that his daughter’s empathy would see through his façade. Sigrid’s hand rubbed his back soothingly and he had to fight the tears from rolling down his cheeks. 

“Da, you know you can tell me anything, you know?” 

“How much of what happened do you know of?” Bard looked at his daughter and noticed her guilty expression, which made him believe that she knew more than she let on. 

“I heard the Elvenking… what he told you both when he found you. And I saw her challenging her father’s authority and being escorted away by the Elvenking’s guards. And I saw the King whisper something to you, he looked threatening, but I never caught what he said…” Bard smiled sadly, brushing a hair strand off his daughter’s face and behind her ear. 

“I suppose you are old enough to understand. The Elvenking told me that he would never think of giving his daughter away to a simple mortal man, and that I was not to go near her for fear of losing my life” 

“Da! I had no idea. This is awful”, Sigrid whispered, overwhelmed with sadness for her father. “I am so sorry. I wish the King was more open-minded. You deserve to be happy.” Sigrid was confused when her father chuckled softly and shook his head. 

“Oh Sigrid, you are still so young. I sometimes forget that you are only seventeen… Tell me, have you had any interest in a boy recently?”

“Da, I don’t understand…”

“Just answer my question, dear. Have you?” Sigrid blushed, which was enough for Bard to know that she, indeed, had had her eyes on a boy. The thought made his heart sink, but that was a matter for another day. 

“Well, to me, no boy no matter how well-raised or how well he treats you, will ever deserve to be with my darling daughter. I will allow it, of course, but I will never be able to admit that you are slipping through my fingers. You will always be my little girl, my baby, do you understand?”

“Yes da, but what does that…” Bard hushed Sigrid by softly pressing his finger to her lips. 

“Listen! Elves are different in the matters of love. They only have one mate and they usually fall in love only once, very rarely a second time after their first mate. There are, of course, exceptions. But only the very strong could survive. This means, my sweet child, that when an elf’s mate dies, the elf that is left behind will most likely die shortly after, as well. Do you understand where I am going with this?”

“I am not entirely sure…”

“Well, let me clarify. Princess Lyra has never had a mate before, and yet she seemed to have had an interest in me. And despite how I feel about her, and despite the fact that I would love to kiss her again and hold her in my arms…” Bard had to take a breath to avoid the sob that was stuck in his throat to betray the pain and sorrow he felt, “… despite all of this, I believe that her father did the right thing!” 

“How could you believe that? Da, you deserve to be loved and I’m sure the princess would have loved you unconditionally if you would have been her first mate…” Bard had not lied when he said that he sometimes forgot how young Sigrid still was. She appeared so mature, so grown-up… but she still romanticised much of everyday life. Bard wished she could keep her innocence forever. 

“Don’t you see, my sweet darling? I am a mortal. Elves don’t die. For one of them to fall in love with one of us, it is like signing their own death sentence. Her father merely wished to save his daughter the sorrow and pain of losing someone who is dear to her. And Sigrid believe me, I understand him. For I would do the same if I was in his position. I would risk facing your hate, or that of Tilda or Bain, if it meant saving your lives.” Sigrid seemed to finally understand what her father had meant to tell her. 

“Is this why you never went to see her after the elves have left? Is this why you gave up?” Bard closed his eyes and again turned his face away from Sigrid’s. He admired the sun set on the horizon and run the question through his head. He had done what was best for the woman he had fallen in love with. By not being with her, he would spare her the pain of separation that would inevitably bring them apart and kill her. 

“This is exactly why I never followed the elves once they left, Sigrid.”, he admitted. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“Iell-nin, please open the door.” Still no answer. Thranduil had tried to get through to his daughter for the past half an hour, but she would not open the door. He had considered just bursting in, but something held him back. As much as he told himself that it was out of respect for his daughter’s privacy, he knew that this was a lie. The truth was, he was afraid of what he would find at the other side of the door. He did not want to face his mistake, he did not want to see his daughter’s suffering brought about by her father, the one elf she was supposed to trust beyond anyone else in the world. Her own father had hurt her beyond repair, and that same father was not ready to face the consequences of his actions. 

“Penneth-nin… I beg of you, Lyra, let me in” Thranduil’s voice had an impatient edge to it, mingled with the worry that his child might already be gone beyond recovery. This thought made the King bang on his daughter’s door with more force than before, “Lyra! Open this door! This is your last chance!” Still no answer. Thranduil knew that he had to do something, he could not allow his own daughter to fade away under his watch. The King took a couple of steps back and threw himself at the door, which gave in easily under the strength of his blow. The King’s eyes fell on his daughter’s motionless body lying on the bed and his heart fell in his chest. 

“Muir-nin, my jewel… please, acknowledge me. Talk to me, child. LYRA” Thranduil had grabbed his daughter by the shoulders and shook her. He just wished for her to come back to her senses. He could not lose her, not like this. The King knew he would never be able to forgive himself if his daughter died because of what he had done. He had merely wished to keep her safe from pain and sorrow. What had he done to deserve this? Had he not been a doting father to her and Legolas all those years. Why did the Valars wish to punish him in such a cruel way. The King did not realise that a handful of servants had gathered at the princess’ room’s door and were watching their king silently weep and beg the still elf to open her eyes. 

“You are still alive, penneth-nin. I can hear your breathing, I can see your eyes move behind your eyelids. You are still there, please come back to me I would do anything!” Thranduil’s brow furrowed in concentration as if he could manage to bring his child back to life by the sheer power of his mind, but he knew it would be in vain. Blinking the remaining tears away, the King of the Sindars knew precisely what he had to do to bring his child back to life. 

And he did not like this compromise in the least. 

 

XXXXXXXXXX

“Bard of Laketown, so we meet again… I suppose I should address you now as Lord of Dale…” Thranduil’s voice was cold, detached and stern. Bard did not know why he had been summoned to the Elvenking’s halls, much less why he had been brought here in the middle of the night escorted by what must have been three dozen elves in full shining armour. He could only assume that there was some diplomatic reason behind all of this. However, his thoughts had taken a completely different trajectory: would he get to see her? Would the King allow Bard to see her one last time? 

“You may address me however you wish, King Thranduil. I am but Bard the Bowman and do not see myself meriting of a title such as Lord.” Thranduil gave a polite nod. 

“Very well, Bard the Bowman. You must be asking yourself why I have requested your presence in my halls this morning.”

“I have to admit the thought did cross my mind”, Bard did not bother hiding his sarcastic tone, but that did not seem to trouble Thranduil in the slightest. The elf merely stared down at the human, reluctance clearly written all over his face. Bard was really curious as to what was so important that the King did not manage to wait until the morning to send his guards to Dale, or even come himself. 

“It is a matter involving my daughter, princess Lyra…” At the mention of her name Bard’s heart summersaulted in his chest. The look on Thranduil’s face announced nothing good and Bard was worried that something bad had happened. 

“What about her? I was told not to come near her for fear of losing my life…”

“As it turns out there is no one else that could make her feel better. You are the only one who can save my jewel.” These words were not said without loathing and Bard respectfully did not pick up on that. Instead, his thoughts revolved around the elf he had fallen in love with and what could possibly need his expertise to heal. 

“I do not understand, what is happening to Ly… to the princess?”

“She is fading. Since we have returned from Dale two moons ago I have noticed that the trees around the palace were dying and it is only yesterday that I connected the dots: Lyra is fading. And the only person she has ever opened her heart to romantically is… well, you, Bard the Bowman. As horrified as I am to admit this, you are my only hope. I need you to go to my daughter and bring her back to me!” Bard could have leaped with joy when Thranduil said those words, yet his mind worried for the beautiful princess: she was fading. It meant that she was slowly dying from heartbreak. So why were they still standing in the throne room, talking like they had all the time in the world? 

“Lead me to her chambers! Now!” Anger briefly flashed through Thranduil’s eyes at the human’s cheek, but considering the urgency of the situation the Elvenking took the orders and made Bard follow him to the princess’ quarters. 

XXXXXXXXXX

All Lyra could see was… white. She stood somewhere, not in a room for she recognised no shape, not outside for she could make out no fauna nor flora. She seemed to be standing in a white void space. She looked around and could see nothing on either side of her, upside or down, which could indicate to a precise location. All she could hear were noises. The princess heard a knocking and someone’s voice calling a name. Lyra. Lyra. Several times this phenomenon repeated itself. The voices changed, and the conversations did, too. People were obviously worried about her, but she could not speak to them. She felt a void in her heart, quite similar to the void she was standing in. And there was no escape. 

She heard a pounding of fist against wood, and a voice she recognised too well: her father’s. When Lyra heard him call out her name urgently, she wished to reach out to him and tell him that she was alright, that she was sad but she believed that in the void her mind had retreated to she could find peace. She wished to wrap her arms around the elf who had caused her this much pain by forbidding her to be with the man she had fallen in love with. Bard. The thought of that name and the memories attached to it made her heart ache like it had never ached before. Lyra felt like screaming, but no sound came out of her mouth. She sat in this void, clutching her chest and her mouth half-open in a silent scream. Bard. The man she loved. The man who had been her downfall. 

She wished she could remember what he looked, felt, sounded and tasted like, but all she was left with was a name. No association, no concrete memories. Merely his name and the pain it caused her. Bard the Bowman. The Dragonslayer. Lyra wished to die if it meant not feeling the pain in her chest no more. Ever more. If only she had one more chance, one more day to live she would have ridden to Bard and told him that it was not his fault. He should never blame himself for her death. Such was the tragic fate of elves: cursed to love only once and pay the price for loving unconditionally. Lyra felt a tear roll down her cheek. 

At the same instant, she felt something – or rather someone – wipe the tear off her face. She thought she recognised the rough calloused skin, but could not be sure in her current state. Then she heard a voice, very distant at first, becoming louder and louder. I am here. You have nothing to fear anymore, Lyra. I will not leave your side anymore. A voice she knew, although she could not pinpoint whom it belonged to exactly. All Lyra knew was that the voice sounded like home, the fingers wiping away her tears had felt like home. Suddenly, she felt a softness on her lips, although there was no one with her in that void. It felt like a kiss. It seemed she had already experienced that kiss before. Out of nowhere, Lyra began to see shapes. She could make out a rounded room supported by windy pillars that resembled the trunks of a tree. She saw herself lying on a rectangular shape. Then she managed to identify some colours, mostly browns, greens and silver. She looked around in awe as a room that looked strangely like her own materialise before her eyes. She felt the silk of her sheets under her palms and the calloused hand was still touching her cheek, the soft lips still kissing her lips. She heard whispers, excited cries and sobs. She saw a mane of brown locks and felt the roughness of a beard brush her delicate skin. When she opened her eyes, she saw Bard. 

“Lyra!”

“Meleth-nin” was all the princess managed to say. Bard’s hazel eyes welled up with tears which made the elf’s heart tighten painfully. Her soft hand came up to cup the human’s face as she leant forward to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Meleth-nin, do not cry”

“They are tears of joy, my sweetheart. I thought I had lost you forever” Bard’s voice sounded reassuring, comforting. It sounded like home. Lyra merely smiled and kissed the human’s lips lovingly. 

“You are here now, that is what matters. Everything will be just fine now.” Lyra promised. Outside the Elvenking’s halls, the trees blossomed bright and green. 

THE END. 

mellon: friend  
aran-nin: my king  
iell-nin: my daughter  
penneth: child  
penneth-nin: my child  
muir-nin: my jewel  
meleth-nin: my love


End file.
